Crowned with Steel
by Stormecho
Summary: There must be a fire, no matter what it has to feed on: even the deaths of others. Ten flashes of memory for a Pokemon trained to fight to the death. This is how the wildfire is born. -AU-


**AN: **Alright, this is to show that I am not entirely dead. First of all, this is an utterly AU oneshot, based off of a world of Pokemon where pitfighting is the norm, and the more humane ways of the past have been utterly abandoned. It's from a roleplay on a forum I go on, and this is just a ficlet I wrote when overcome with muse for my character. Reviews, of course, would be wonderful. 3 Enjoy~

* * *

_In her mind, there is always a fire – glorious and all-consuming. Above it hang wisps of flame, drifting back and forth. And there are ten that are caged, a net of metal confining the embers forever._

She never remembers her first owner, because they are a hand and food and a voice that drones – nothing important. But she always remembers the day her trainer walked in, because he was her god and her enemy and always, always so above her. He towered then, alien and unknowable, and she obeyed because he was the ruler of her tiny world.

_-ashes-_

In the beginning, she is weak, and there is nothing to fight for but fear and confusion. But he continues training her, making her fight again and again and again until suddenly she finds hatred for the smug cat standing across from her, so contemptous of how hard she had trained – and then there is wonderful flame and the smell of burned flesh and _blood _in her mouth and she is disappointed when she is pulled away, because there is a flame and she _wants _so much more. But her trainer, who has awakened her, praises her and there is a proud fire in his eyes and she contents herself with the knowledge that there will be more blood.

_-sparks-_

When he holds out the stone, she knows it is not a question, not a request that she consider – but he knows that it had never needed to be a question, because she would do anything for more strength. So she steps forward into light and purifying flames and kills, and kills, and there is a fire of her own now, kindled by crushed bone and blood and the bodies she has silenced.

_-tinder-_

It is not love, or hate, but pride that drives them. His pride in her victories, her pride in being better, and when she walks, untouched, not beaten or tormented like the rest, she knows that to them she walks as if on air, high above their cages. Their despair does not, cannot touch her.

_-kindling-_

She fights many, and she stretches out the battles because no matter what, she always wants _more:_ more blood, more pain, to see utter defeat in their eyes, to know that she is the one that they fear the most in this moment, the god to strike them down.

_-flare-_

She is not merciful, but she can't help feeling something when she fights a mother and her pup, seeing how the older Absol rushes in to protect the younger one, not caring that it will only hurt her more. So she kills them quickly, because she does not like the feeling of grasping at something and not understanding it.

_-waver-_

She tells herself later that it does not matter, because the pup was weak – too weak, if it needs someone else to protect it – and reassures herself of her strength, that she did not ever need such. She cannot squash the pinprick of longing, though, because there was never anyone to protect even if it was unneeded.

_-weakening-_

Three fights are not food for her flame, but they do not matter because they had been far above her in rank and that she could fight to a draw only made everything better, though she learns that he does not like gambles, and the pride in his eyes is shadowed by bitter relief.

_-smoke-_

Her appearance is known, now, and she is never truly a gamble – no wings or shadowy powers, just fire and fang and sane enough to obey but not enough to be broken, just honed and made brighter with each battle. The whispers of admirations and envy from human mix with the fear and anger and challenge from Pokemon and she revels in it all, blazing with more glory.

_-bonfire-_

This is her destiny, to fight and wound and be wounded, and she feels only triumph when given her new name, but the weight of the helmet, spiked and terrible, is disconcerting, and for a moment her head is heavy with the weight of a doomed life. The metal is cold and reminds her of a cage but she pushes the doubt back and burns it with her pride, and if her trainer ever notices her flinch when he readies her for battle, he says nothing.

_-caged-_


End file.
